I am writing this as a co-worker who shall remain nameless, but who is known for suffering from gastric distress, is shouting into the phone to her sister about the tragic earthquake in China. Her screams are so loud that Maud--whose cell is at least twice as far away from hers as mine is--called me to bitch. Apparently she who needs more roughage has been searching the web for information about casualties. Casualties among the pandas, that is. "According to the Chinese government," she screams, "all of the giant pandas are safe. I dunno, the British newspapers seem skeptical." And so on. In a past life I must have set orphanages on fire.
But why should we be annoyed or surprised by this? After all, every fucking day brings yet another disgusting tale about one or another of the miscreants who are our co-workers. For example, there is the early 50-something, never married neocon who always brushes his teeth after meals. "But isn't that a good thing," you might exclaim? Yes, yes it is. Unless.... You see, a male co-worker saw said goofball place his toothbrush at the top of a urinal before taking a whizz. Sadly, the toothbrush suddenly fell, landing in the urinal drain. I think you would agree that a normal person would have thrown out the toothbrush. A normal person. But not this guy. Nope, he merely walked over to the sinks and rinsed it off. No doubt he still uses that toothbrush--a toothbrush that is covered with microscopic remnants of the urine produced by every man working on our floor.
Did I mention that a sign appeared one day in the nearest pantry that politely asked a nameless co-worker to refrain from "spitting in the kitchen sink?"
Or the other co-worker who goes into a trance when he is walking the floors, looking for a big pair of tits or a bouncy butt? As he trolls for T & A, he continually strikes his upper thighs with his balled up hands.
Ah, so many tales, so little time. But I must share a bit of what Mr. Slice just told me about his experiences today. Mr. Slice's day started when he visited the men's room and noticed that the only other occupant was a co-worker who we consider rather addled (I find it remarkable that (a) he finds his way to the office and (b) he doesn't wear pants with obvious urine stains). Shortly after entering the bathroom, Mr. Slice heard him proclaim, "I must take my medication." Mr. Slice discreetly looked around to see who addled co-worker was talking to. There was no one else in the bathroom. Well, no one that Mr. Slice could see. Later in the day, Mr. Slice again went into the men's room and saw an employee washing his feet at the sinks. He says that this employee and one other routinely wash their feet and arms at the sinks. He thinks it is a religious ritual. Of course, neither of us is willing to google this ritual for fear that nothing will turn up. Finally, as he leaves the men's room and heads to his cube, Mr. Slice notices a pair of legs sticking out of a row of cubicles into the hallway. As he approaches, he sees that the legs belong to a quirky, sort of charming yet paranoid co-worker who has plopped down on the floor in front of her office with the contents of her handbag strewn about. He assumes that she has misplaced the keys to open her office door, because he would rather not contemplate the other alternatives. Ah, an average day.
